


Canned Chilli

by fannyvonfabulus



Series: Tumblr Prompts and Drabbles [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint likes cheesy one liners, Get Together, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Safehouses, stupid oblivious boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1494640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannyvonfabulus/pseuds/fannyvonfabulus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint, Coulson, a safehouse and kissing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canned Chilli

**Author's Note:**

> for this tumblr prompt:
> 
> selana1505: Phlint, post mission, safe house, waiting for extraction… Make of that what you will.

“Meh, we’ve been in worse,” Clint shrugs as he takes in the sorry excuse for a safe house.  And house is pushing it really.  It’s the tiniest studio apartment that Phil has ever seen but at least it’ll give them somewhere to be safe while they wait for extraction. 

Clint dumps their kit in the only corner that isn’t taken up with rickety looking furniture and starts his security sweep.  That takes all of 30 seconds seeing as he can walk around the whole place in about 10 strides.

“Hey, at least there’s a separate bathroom Boss,” Clint says when he’s finished his sweep and flops down on the end of the bed which seems to take up half the space.  “And there’s a shower.”

“Small mercies....” Phil grumbles as he checks the one and only cupboard in the tiny apartment and is relieved to find it fully stocked with cans and ration packets.  “You take it first.  We need to eat so I’ll get started on dinner.  Lunch.  Whatever.”

Clint’s eyebrows rise when he realises that for Phil to be unsure of the time then he must be more tired that Clint first thought.  It had been a shitty mission from start to finish, both of them having been awake for over 24 hours now.  The icing on the cake had been when HQ informed Phil that extraction wouldn’t be for another day at least.  Still, they had somewhere warm, dry and stocked with food to hide out in which Clint was grateful for.  What he wasn’t grateful for was the fact that the place was the size of a postage stamp and he’s going to have to share a bed with Coulson because he really didn’t want to sleep on the floor, not after being stuck on a roof ledge for the past 2 days.  Clint isn’t stupid enough to argue with Phil when he’s this tired and just silently strips out of his filthy field gear until he’s down to his boxers and heads into the tiny bathroom. 

When the door closes behind Clint, Phil sags against the sorry excuse for a kitchen work surface and rubs his face with both hands.  He’s shared a safe house with Clint before, even shared a bed, but this place is tiny and the bed is only a queen.  It means that he either sleeps on the floor, (and after 2 days spent hunched over under cover he really doesn’t want to), or he shares the bed with Clint.  And a queen sized bed is not really big enough for two full grown men.  Phil sighs mournfully as he thinks about having to lie next to Clint all night, that perfect body and sharp mind lying right there next to him and not being able to touch.  He growls, still chastising himself for having fallen in love with his asset.  And as the years have gone on, his love has only deepened.  He’s amazed that Clint hasn’t noticed anything, but he’s grateful.  What would someone like Clint want with a balding middle aged man like him? 

“Fuck’s sake Phillip....” Phil mutters to himself as he takes off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves.  He gets rid of his tie too which joins his jacket over the back of the only chair in the apartment.  His gun harness is next and he takes the opportunity to stretch, feeling his back pop and it feels good.  He allows himself one more sigh and then busies himself with trying to make a half decent meal out of what’s in the cupboard.

In the shower, Clint lets the hot water wash over him and start to soothe his stiff muscles.  He can’t be too long or there’ll be no hot water left for Phil but he needs to get himself squared away first.  He’ll have to share a bed with Phil tonight and isn’t that just fan-fucking-tastic?  It’s not like they haven’t had to countless times before.  It’s just that this time, Clint is in love with his handler.  It’s a relatively recent epiphany but once he’d had it, Clint had realised that he’d been in love with Phil for years.  He just hadn’t let himself admit it.  He hadn’t let himself admit that Phil’s soft smiles when Clint did well warmed him from the inside.  Clint had just assumed that the warm, fuzzy feelings were just because no-one ever praised him for anything.  He was used to be being punished for fucking up, not being praised for doing well.  It wasn’t until after Natasha and then Tony ( _Tony_ for fucks sake) had dropped a few comments that Clint went away and thought about things, really thought about them.  And now he’s utterly screwed.  Why would someone like Phil want an ex-carnie smart mouth who had problems with authority?  Phil deserved someone so much better than him and that stung.  Clint knows that he’s not what Phil deserves and that hurts.

When Clint turns of the shower and dries off, he gets his mind straight and puts his feelings in a box for as long as they’re here.  Christ he needs a beer......

When Clint appears from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, Phil’s mouth goes dry when he sees his asset in nothing but a towel.  He’s always appreciated Clint’s body but a shower fresh Clint is something else.  His skin has a fine sheen to it as the steam clings to him and his hair, having been towel dried, is all over the place.  Phil files the image away for later alongside all the other images in his mind of Clint and turns back to finish off dinner.

“Smells good Boss,” Clint says as he sniffs the air and peers over Phil’s shoulder to get a look at what’s cooking.  Just because he’s in love with his handler doesn’t mean he can’t still be his usual, obnoxious self.

“It may smell good but it’ll probably taste like shit,” Phil answers as he stirs the canned chilli in the only saucepan in the apartment on the 1-ring stove top. 

“At this point I’ll eat anything,” Clint mumbles, close enough to Phil that he can smell his expensive cologne under the layers of tiredness.  He’s so close that if he turned his head just slightly to the left, he’d be able to press his lips to Phil’s neck where he can see the agent's pulse beating under his skin.

“You usually _do_ eat anything Barton,” Phil chuckles and tries desperately not lean back against the solid, shower warm body that is almost pressed up against his back.  Clint smells amazing and Phil’s tired and he wants to turn around but he can’t.  He won’t.

“That’s true,” Clint murmurs and Phil’s neck is _right there._

They fall into silence, which is easy at first but then Clint doesn’t move away and Phil is trapped between the stove and Clint’s body and he’s horrified when his tired, world weary body sways backwards just a little, but it’s enough that he brushes up against Clint.  He hears his archer’s breath hitch ever so slightly and Phil’s brain is too tired to fight.  He makes a decision and turns slowly so that he’s facing Clint, his breath caught in his throat when he sees that those wonderful blue-green eyes are closed.  He doesn’t think then and his body takes over.  He takes in the slightly parted lips and just closes the distance.  He puts a determined hand on Clint’s hip and presses a kiss to that gorgeous, smart mouth.  In the back of his mind, a voice is screaming at him that he shouldn’t, that he can’t but he tells it to go fuck itself when Clint is kissing him back.  It’s tentative at first but then it’s like a dam has broken and Clint is crowding him back against the kitchen counter and kissing him back like his life depends on it.  Phil swallows the whimper that escapes Clint’s throat and the hand not on his archer’s hip curls into his damp hair, angling his head just so and oh yeah, that’s good.  That’s really good.  Phil can’t help his own whimper and he feels Clint’s lips curl into a smile against his when he hears it.

“How hungry are you?” Clint gasps when they finally pull apart for air but he doesn’t go far, just rests his forehead against Phil’s and stares down at his handler’s kiss swollen lips.

“Depends what’s on the menu,” Phil answers and fumbles a hand behind him to turn off the stove.  Clint just grins and reaches a hand behind Phil to put the lid on the saucepan and then he’s tugging Phil by the shirt towards the bed.

“Well, it’s better than canned chilli,” Clint says, his voice low and he looks up at Phil through his lashes when the back of his thighs meet the bed and he tugs at his towel so that it falls to the floor.  “But it’s still hot.”

“Barton?”

“Sir?”

“Shut the fuck up.”


End file.
